


Little Lies

by UbiquitousMixie



Category: Major Crimes, The Closer
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-19
Updated: 2013-11-19
Packaged: 2018-01-02 02:40:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1051559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UbiquitousMixie/pseuds/UbiquitousMixie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She doesn’t tell lies—not when she is supposed to be modeling honesty and openness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Lies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [surena_13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/surena_13/gifts).



> If you squint really hard, you *might* be able to find a plot in here. I was in the mood to write something smutty, and this was the result. Set in the Major Crimes ‘verse. Please let me know what you think, and enjoy!

She tells herself that _This. Is. It._

This is the last time. 

Christ, it has to be, because Brenda is still very much married, even if she isn’t Sharon’s boss anymore, and this is everything that Sharon _isn’t_. She doesn’t do this shameful creeping behind closed doors in rented rooms or restrooms or anywhere they can get their hands on each other. She doesn’t tell Rusty lies—not when she is supposed to be modeling honesty and openness. 

She can’t keep doing this. 

But Brenda had called—said she _needed_ Sharon in the _worst_ way—and Sharon’s body had betrayed her by becoming unbearably aroused. 

She wanted to say “no more,” but instead she had asked “Where? When?” She told Rusty that she’d be working late. 

She’s lying to Rusty, and she’s lying to herself. 

Sharon doesn’t wonder anymore where Brenda gets the money she needs to rent these hotel rooms; she used to think about it, imagining that one day her husband would notice the credit card charges or the hundreds of dollars worth of withdrawals from their joint account. As far as Sharon knows, Fritz and Brenda are still happily sitting in their tree, and Sharon has stopped fooling herself. 

This isn’t going anywhere beyond the walls of these hotel rooms. They’re not going to live happily ever after in Sapphic bliss, though not for Sharon’s lack of wanting. Perhaps that is why she sticks around; she wants to be needed by Brenda, even in this most illicit of ways. 

It doesn’t hurt that tonight, Brenda opens the door to their hotel room wearing little more than a corset, thigh-highs, and a g-string. Sharon has never needed this sort of get-up to turn her on, not when just the sight of Brenda in her poly-blend sweater sets and tacky floral skirts is enough to make her clit throb. 

She doesn’t _need_ it to turn her on, but oh does it ever. Sharon has come straight from work and is still dressed in her blazer and dress, but Brenda Leigh has clearly taken considerable time to perfect her seductress look and their rented room. She stops herself from wondering if Brenda puts in this same effort with her husband—has he seen this plum colored corset or these lace-edged stockings that kiss the pale flesh of her thighs? It doesn’t matter, because Brenda is wearing it for her now. It may be a ploy on Brenda’s part to sink the hook in a little deeper, to keep Sharon coming back for more, but Sharon doesn’t care anymore. She doesn’t _want_ to care. She just wants to focus on fucking Brenda through the mattress. 

Their kisses are greedy and sloppy and bruising, and Sharon can’t get enough. Brenda has managed to push off Sharon’s blazer, and the captain longs to be rid of her dress so that she can feel the scratch of lace and satin against her bare breasts. They clutch and squeeze pluck and pinch, restless fingers never ceasing their explorations. 

Sharon spins the blonde around, sliding her hands against the smooth fabric before cupping the other woman’s breasts, feeling them strain against the corset. The sight of it makes the captain groan. She’ll think about this for weeks, the sight of Brenda like this, heaving and sexy like a wanton pin-up. She’ll hate herself for it but she’ll touch herself anyway while she clings to the memory. 

“Oh, Sharon,” Brenda is saying, gasping as she arches her ass back against Sharon’s crotch. “I need you,” she says again. 

Sharon doesn’t give a damn about what Brenda needs. She is desperate to feel her, to touch her, to give in to this desire that continues to consume her. She tugs at the laces at the back of the corset, frantic to see the impressions left behind like welts on Brenda’s skin. What will Brenda say to her husband if he notices the faint, red outline of the lingerie on her body when she goes home to him? 

_Stop,_ she tells herself. _Stop thinking about him. Stop torturing yourself. Be like Brenda and take what you want._

She appreciates that Brenda has gone to this trouble for her, but she can’t remove their barriers of clothing fast enough. This affair does not have the luxury of time; they’re extremely lucky if they can manage quickies a few times a week, meaning that there’s rarely removal of clothing—a slip of a hand inside pants, a head beneath a skirt with panties pushed aside. Tonight, however, Sharon doesn’t need to be seduced by yet more clothing; she wants them naked. She wants to feel the entire length of the other woman’s body pressed against her own. 

As soon as the corset hits the floor, things happen in a flurry of motion. Brenda divests the captain of her clothing and removes what remains of her own, and then they’re kissing again. Sharon sucks Brenda’s tongue into her mouth and nips at it, desperate to feel as much of the blonde as she can. If this _is_ the last time, she wants something to take with her. 

Brenda falls back onto the bed and props herself up on her elbows. Her legs are spread wide and Sharon drinks in the sight of her. Brenda’s cunt is puffy and slick and pink, and Sharon can’t wait. She hooks her hands behind Brenda’s knees and pulls her roughly to the edge of the bed, where she kneels and wastes little time pressing her tongue directly between the other woman’s thighs. 

“Sharon!” 

The rough scratch of the carpet digs at her knees, but Sharon’s entire existence is focused in her tongue as it laps and licks and sucks at her lover’s sex. She can’t get enough of the way that Brenda writhes and clutches at the bedspread; it urges her on, motivating her to move her tongue just a little faster. The woman’s cries and gasps echo in the walls of this room, mingled with the ghost of sounds of affairs past. Sharon’s tongue is relentless. She strokes Brenda all the way to orgasm, through the shattering release that makes the bed creek and groan while the woman lying on top of it quakes and shudders and falls to pieces. She strokes until Brenda’s hips arch away when she’s too sensitive to take anymore, but Sharon can see in those brown eyes that the blonde wishes she could go on forever. 

Sharon springs to her feet, and Brenda scoots herself back to the center of the bed while the brunette crawls over her. They wrap around each other, legs tangled and arms gripping while they kiss. Brenda moans at the taste of herself on Sharon’s tongue. 

They rock together, their hips seeking and shifting until Sharon’s got one of Brenda’s thighs locked between her legs. She grinds her clit against Brenda’s leg, desperate to get off, desperate to slake this agonizing thirst. If she takes the edge off, perhaps she can think clearly, perhaps she can focus on savoring whatever time they have left. She can’t wait for Brenda’s mouth or her fingers; she rubs her cunt against Brenda’s leg, coating the pale flesh with her arousal. Brenda’s fingers clutch at Sharon’s ass, guiding her movements, forcing her down a little harder. 

Sharon comes before she’s ready, before she can even comprehend how close her body was to that inevitable release. She throws her head back and groans. Miles away, Brenda’s tongue laps at the exposed expanse of Sharon’s throat while their sweaty bodies rock together in a sensual dance perfected after their very first encounter years ago. 

Heart racing, eyes closed, Sharon allows herself to be pressed back against the mattress. Their bodies unwind—it’s startling to her that they are, after all, two separate people—and Brenda soothes her fingers against Sharon’s cheek so gently that the brunette’s eyelids snap open. The softness of Brenda’s gaze takes the captain’s breath away. 

The desperation is gone, leaving only a tenderness that makes Sharon feel completely exposed. Now that Brenda’s fingers are tracing little, nonsensical patterns on her stomach, raising goosebumps in their wake, Sharon could almost lose her head—she could almost forget that they’re not making love. 

“You’re so far away,” Brenda points out quietly, scratching her nails just below Sharon’s belly button. “And I haven’t even had my turn yet.” 

Sharon knows that she should go. She should end this—but she won’t. She can’t. If she could end it, she would have done it years ago. She never would have let it go this far. 

“I’m not gonna stop you,” Sharon whispers. 

It’s a painful admission—but at least Sharon is finally being honest. 

\---


End file.
